


It's cold where I am

by Flame_Surfer



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Harry is an enigma, M/M, Perrie isn't really present in this?, Pining, References to Cheating, Unrequited Love, you know who that blonde at the end is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_Surfer/pseuds/Flame_Surfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cracked lips mouth an address against the shell of his ear, but he can feel the wet heat of Zayn's mouth on his breath. Once in the car, it is quiet. They both had the foresight to bring jackets but Niall can feel raindrops trickling along his scalp, sloping down to wet his eyebrow. It makes him shiver. He has cranked the heat up but he looks over to make sure Zayn's alright, anyway. The car smells of weed.</p><p>Niall is keying the ignition when Zayn speaks up.</p><p>"Wasn't wi' Shahid."</p><p>---</p><p>Three times Zayn needs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's cold where I am

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this when Zayn left One Direction, so yeah. It's almost been a year now. I had to take a break because of schoolwork, but decided to dig it up again around last month.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Write to me @narryouanyway on Tumblr if you have any queries.

 ---

 _Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings._  
_~Gustave Flaubert  
_

_\---_

 

**10 pm**

 

Zayn smells insistently of alcohol, but Niall still opens the passenger side door for him. He doesn't ask him anything, just drives. It's Friday night and everyone's filtering out to clubs and bars, the roads jam packed with traffic. He tries to subtly roll down the window on his side, wanting to get some fresh air inside. But he knows Zayn's caught him.

"Didn't have ta come, mate. I could'a gotten a cab."

"Don't be silly," Niall tells him.

It's quiet after that, the cool night breeze easing his chest a little. The boy next to him is visibly sloshed, sweaty forehead leaving foggy prints on the glass of the window. His wet mouth is slack, eyes heavy lidded and gaze blank.   
The dashboard lights flood Niall's face with a sickly bright colour, making his eyes look cloudy grey. Zayn shifts - his leather jacket squeaks against the leather seat of the car. Somewhere, a heart stops beating.

"I didn't mean to, y'know? Bother you, I mean," he slurs, his bony fingers digging in at the inseam of his ripped jeans.

And the thing is, Niall knows. He knows very well that Zayn feels guilty. That he doesn't want to be a bother, a liability. But that's just Zayn. He's never wanted to be dependent on Niall, but he just. Is.

Niall is the one he calls upon during any kind of mishap or whenever he is in a tight spot. Whether it be a melancholy call the night before his granddad's funeral, or an ashamed call from the police station when he's finally gotten caught spray painting on the walls at a back alley near Banksy Street - He always calls Niall.

They're stuck in a traffic jam now. The road is wide, and the streetlights illuminate the dark, dark waters on either side of the bridge. He could just drop Zayn off here. Tell him to get a cab. It could be that easy; but with Niall, it never is. He's a sucker for wanting to see how things play out in the end, even though they hardly ever play out in his favour.

"It's okay. It's not like I was busy or anything."

Lie. There'd been a bloke with pretty eyes and a smooth voice. Niall could've listened to him ramble forever; could've started something new and promising, for once. But he didn't let himself. He answered Shahid's call, and here he was. He'd fled from the restaurant - from his date - with a, "So sorry, it's an emergency." The rosy flush in his cheeks had probably given away the fact that he was lying blatantly.  
Or maybe he's just overthinking again.

"Why were you out with him, Zee?" The question is asked with frayed nerves, posed behind the shelter of a thick swallow.

Zayn has friends, so many of them. But he isn't usually out with Shahid unless things have gone to hell. Zayn's a bipolar drunk, and Niall knows this. Knows that his mood can switch from calm to agitated like a whip at any moment. He expects it to, even; braces himself.

But it doesn't come.

"Jus' for a pint," Zayn replies, and he sounds so vulnerable. Apologetic, even. Niall wants to take his words back - even though it was a question and not an accusation.

The traffic has passed now, and they're cruising smoothly down a well lit street, slight music floating in from a house on the next lane. It's a residential area - a relatively posh one. Zayn has always been particular about status quo. Niall knows he is the only exception Zayn's ever made. Is thankful for it, partly, but can't help but be bitter about it as well. It shouldn't matter, he thinks. Shouldn't matter that he lives on the other side of the city in a draughty flat with a botched heating system. Shouldn't matter as long as he's here for his  _friend_ , like he is now. 

Homogeneous rows of stucco houses line either side of the street, the front porches decorated with white recliners and little coffee tables. Niall wordlessly pulls up in front of Zayn's residence, the car's engine sputtering until it's quiet and the night is the only thing they can hear. The house is sloped rooftops and high gables, glass fronted with an edge of black and cream. The front lawn has been weeded out, the petunias freshly watered. Perrie's always had a green thumb. The cobble-stoned path leads up to a dark doorstep. In fact, it is the only unlit house on the entire street.

Looking at Zayn now is difficult because of how different he is to the boy who'd mistaken him for the librarian all those years ago. Perhaps it's because Zayn's wasted, but Niall's heart tells him that there's more to it. He's learned to ignore his heart by now.

He won't go in. He's over that phase - helping Zayn into the house, undressing him and making him drink a glass of water. Putting him to bed. He's over it. Won't let himself relapse.

(He hopes Perrie's in to look after him.)

They sit there together for a moment, and it feels like they could sit there forever and the sun would never come up. The moment passes and Zayn's unbuckling the seat belt Jawaad had forced around his waist. Niall can hear the door click open, but he is staring straight ahead at the dead end street through the windshield. He turns his head after counting up to a minute, not all that surprised to find that Zayn hasn't left. He looks at him, gauging and pondering, confessions stuck at the back of his throat. Zayn looks like he wants to do something - to move in for a hug, maybe. Niall can't help but notice how he doesn't belong here anymore, in his car. Not like he used to, a year ago.

The boy with the shy smile and guarded eyes, canines shining brilliantly when he laughed that silent laugh. Zayn's been torn open now, a man's worth of an open wound. There's nothing left to take, to decipher.

"See you, man," Niall says, and that's it. They both know they won't, for a while. Not until Zayn's in trouble again.

 

He leaves, just like he always does. They both do.

 

 

**x**

 

 

_\---_

_“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”_

_~Federico Garcia Lorca_

_\---_

 

**12:30 am**

 

This time, it's Louis who calls. Says he's had a fall out with Zayn and that Niall'd better go pick him up. Check on him. The thing is, Louis' nothing if not a fierce, fierce friend. A fallout to him means nothing more than a temporary interval in the flow of conversation.

But Niall knows Zayn. Knows he's easily wounded and that when he is, he cannot be found at safe places around midnight.

It turns out he's right. Zayn's perched on a swing at a public park in central London, smoke curling around his tongue before leaving his mouth. Shahid's with him. Niall pulls his thin windbreaker tighter around himself, shoulders hunched as he makes his way over to the duo. The creaking of the swing set is the only sound puncturing the night.

Zayn plants his feet down when he sees him, skidding to a halt as the gravel crunches under the soles of his sneakers.

"Hey."

Shahid straightens from where he had been leaning against the support pole of the swing.

"Come on," Niall says, jaw tensing.

Zayn's dressed in an unbuttoned maroon flannel, a white tank underneath. The tail of the shirt flutters in the wind, the flimsy material pushed back and nearly off his shoulders.

"Where?" he asks and he looks genuinely embarrassed, trying to be discrete as he drops the cig to the ground - steps on it. Niall can't see why. He's never had a problem with him smoking.

"I'm dropping you off at Tommo's. You two need to sort your shit out."

Shahid's stepping forward now, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his stretched out skin. "Sorry, bruv. Don't think that's the best--"

"No." Zayn cuts in. Niall can see his knuckles whiten around the metal chain of the swing.

"No, Niall's right. I should sort my shit out." His low voice cuts sharper than the slicing breeze and Shahid lifts the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling sharply. A moment later, smoke billows palely against the dark of the night.

"Come on," Niall repeats, gentler this time as he extends a hand to Zayn. He toes back, swinging forwards for momentum until he's off the seat, jogging lightly and reaching to take Niall's hand. Zayn's fingers are warm where they had been curled around the fag. They don't fit perfectly in the spaces between his own.

They make it to the wrought iron gates before Niall glances over his shoulder. Shahid's tapping the mouth of the cigarette with the pad of his index finger, dusting off the ash. The golden glow of a dying ember remains, burning bright but illuminating nothing.

"You're freezing babes," Zayn whispers to him and Niall glances downwards, watches as he thumbs over his pink, frostbitten knuckles. And then the warmth's gone from between his fingers but there's an arm curled around his shoulders, tugging him into another warmth that is the hard line of Zayn's side.

"Aren't  _you_ cold?"   
He only gets a snort in reply.

They're halfway to Louis' place when Zayn speaks up again. "Twenty questions?"

Niall cracks a smile, surprised. They haven't done this since the house party back in third year.  
"Sure. Shoot."  
   
A stretch of silence and then--  
"How'd you find me?"

Niall shoots him a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. Zayn looks like he's fumbling for words, trying to rephrase. "I mean, Lou probably called you and all, but how'd you know where to find me?"

Niall turns down the volume on the radio, Viva La Vida petering out until it's merely periodic bass in the background.   
"I might've injected you with a tracking device when you stayed over at mine."   
Zayn fixes him with an unblinking, calculating look. His right eye twitches.   
"I haven't been to yours for over a year." 

There's a painful pause. "I know."

He seems to regard this for a moment, jaw working as he calculates the possibility of Niall being part of the FBI and then he's punching him solidly in the arm, receiving a brash cackle and an indignant squawk of, "Don't abuse the driver!" in return.

"C'mon, tell me," Zayn demands once his giggles have faded away but Niall shakes his head, shifts gears as they turn a dimly lit corner. "I already gave you an answer. Take it or leave it. It's my turn."

Zayn grumbles but a moment later, he gives in. "Fine. Ask away."

Niall finds himself easing up on the accelerator because he really does want an answer to his question. Zayn will leave with an apology and a _next time, bro_ if they get there too soon. Niall's not stupid; he knows that _next time_ will only come when Zayn needs him again.

"You and Tommo. What happened?"

Contrary to what he expected, Zayn doesn't stiffen. Early years of school-level footie training had taught Niall to rely on his peripheral vision and now he can see Zayn's shoulders slump. A sigh grazes over his protruding bottom lip. Niall wonders what it would be like to tug and watch it snap back in place. He runs his tongue over his teeth, blinking away.

"He said something about Pez, how I'm not being fair to her and I flipped." He looks torn between guilt and feeling that he did the right thing. He continues, "You know what I'm-"   
But then he checks himself. Niall knows the end to that sentence.

 _You know what I'm like, Ni._  
Except he doesn't. Not anymore.

So when they reach Louis', Niall turns to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. He's more than surprised when Zayn turns into it and suddenly, they're hugging.

Niall's seat belt digs into his chest as he's pulled in, but he doesn't mind it one bit. Simply buries his nose into the worn the collar of Zayn's shirt; inhales the smoke and the double spritz of Tom Ford. He's pretending he can feel the damp spots where the cologne has left its mark when Zayn whispers a thank you in his ear.

Then he's pulling away and Niall can hear the soft click of the seat belt unbuckling, the muted thump of the car door closing. Louis' standing at the gate and when Niall cracks the window down to wave, he hears a baby's cry. He is hit with a sudden sense of longing as he listens to little Freddie's piercing wail, the timbre so much like his father's already.

He'll have to drop by soon. It's been too long since he last spoiled him, but not now. Not with Zayn there.

Louis looks soft in a grey hoodie and joggers, with his fringe down, hood up. He looks tired, but so content.

Niall's chest floods with buttery warmth as he drives away and he desperately tries not to think about how he had to call Perrie to ask where Zayn might've gone.

It's not 2012 anymore. He doesn't know Zayn's haunts.

 

 

**x**

 

 

_\---_

_"So long as the world contains us both,_  
_Me the loving and you the loth,_  
_While the one eludes, must the other pursue."_  
_~Robert Browning_

_\---_

 

**9:30 PM**

 

Niall feels like he's back in his uni days. He feels warm, the flush in his cheeks welcome for the first time in quite a while. The bar stool underneath him is soft, cracked leather and the chatter around him is familiar. He's pleasantly buzzed; will be well drunk by the end of the night if Harry keeps serving them rounds like he has been for the past hour.

The pub is packed and the other bartender, Xander, is having a hard time catering to the customers as Harry focuses solely on Niall and Liam. Every time Liam sighs, Harry pushes yet another drink at him and Niall's so grateful for him. He's also very sorry for Liam. Poor lad had been planning a surprise birthday bash for Sophia...only to get dumped the night before.

Oh well, at least the keg hadn't gone to waste. Him and Liam had pregamed back at the latter's loft before Niall had the bright idea to 'go see what Harry's up to'. Even though Liam already knew full well that Harry worked at the pub on Friday nights and that they didn't need to go see to find out, he didn't complain because hey, free drinks.

Liam groans now, rolling his hot forehead against the sticky counter top. Harry pats his shoulder in a classic _there there, now now_  and casually slips a pill into the garishly fruity cocktail he hands him. He grins surreptitiously at Niall.

Liam's spirits skyrocket fairly quickly after that and yeah, Niall's so grateful for Harry. In no time, Liam's got a heavy arm curled clumsily around Niall's shoulders, drink sloshing in his other hand as he belts an overly dramatic rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Harry is laughing, his eyes brighter than King's Street on Christmas Eve.

What happens next can only be explained by the term intuition. One moment he's assisting with the harmonies and the next his gaze cuts over to the double doors of the loo. They're shut, so he's not sure what he's looking at. Looking for.

When the doors open and Zayn stumbles out, he thinks it must be coincidence. That doesn't explain the way his heart is tattooing an all to familiar pattern onto the inside of his chest.

Liam's repeating _oh Auld Lang Syne, my dear_ over and over like a broken record. Niall would guide him back to the chorus with a gentle shift in melody, but he finds himself otherwise occupied. Harry is the one who notices, because he's perceptive like that.

They've all known each other for years now - Liam has always been the oblivious one, the last to know of most things. Harry is the one who is aware of everything and yet marches to the beat of his own drum. And Zayn --- Niall can see he's high now. Eyes heavy-lidded and plush lips parted in a telltale manner. He's such a sight like this. So fucking debauched.

And Zayn, he supposes, has always been the predictable one. Creature of habit and all that.

Harry cocks his head to catch Niall's attention and Niall looks over. His curls are so wild now, his eyes so _intensely_ green. But somehow behind the counter, he looks tame. Caged, almost. Harry shouldn't be here, Niall realises, his groggy mind too slow for it to be much of a revelation. Harry's got every skill required for being a good bartender. The effortless charm, the sense of home he exudes that gets people to open up, the comforting smile, the empathy, the _dimples_.

But he's so much more than just that, Niall thinks. Harry should be out there, exploring the world in his scuffed up boots and faux sheepskin, leather bound journal tucked snugly under his inked bicep. He shouldn't be stuck behind a counter, forced to listen to other people's life stories while he's unable to tell his own.

(Later, they have this conversation.   
"Do you know why I became a bartender, Niall?"   
"For the money?"   
"No. For the stories.")

Niall wants him to do great things but at the same time, he's so grateful that Harry is here now.

Harry seems to notice that Niall's not with them anymore; not really. He fits the soft pad of his thumb between Niall's eyebrows, smoothing out the crease that had formed there unbeknownst to himself.

"Don't think so hard. Go. I'll take care of Payno."

Niall loves him.

Outside, it's raining. A sudden spell in the middle of autumn because London likes to spice things up from time to time. Zayn's body is lax against his, leaning into him heavy, warm, pliant. Niall's fingers find purchase on his bony hip as they slosh through the flooded street and make their way across to where his car is parked. His sneakers feel heavy, water steadily seeping into his socks. The traffic light is red, bleeding out in a wobbly line like watercolour onto the rain soaked street.

Cracked lips mouth an address against the shell of his ear, but he can feel the wet heat of Zayn's mouth on his breath. Once in the car, it is quiet. They both had the foresight to bring jackets but Niall can feel raindrops trickling along his scalp and sloping down to wet his eyebrow. It makes him shiver. He has cranked the heat up but he looks over to make sure Zayn's alright, anyway. The car smells of weed.

Niall is keying the ignition when Zayn speaks up.

"Wasn't wi' Shahid."

He takes his word for it, but it looks like Zayn isn't done yet.

"Went with, wi' Caroline." He emphasises the first syllable and the rest of the name is a rush. "But there were these blokes, right? And I heard them say they were gunna light up in the loo. So I went with an' I couldn't find her when I came out."

He sounds equal parts guilty and ashamed. His voice is like grating sandstone, raw and smokey. "Just, like- A spot of fun, Ni. I wasn't goin' ta pull more than my weight. I could've managed calling like a cab or summin'."

Niall doesn't mention how back in the pub, he'd looked like he would have keeled over without support. He nods dutifully. It's a lot to take in, all of a sudden. Zayn's explaining himself, like he doesn't want Niall to think ill of him. It is bittersweet.

It makes him glow inside to know that Zayn still wants his approval, but something heavy presses down on his chest because Zayn thinks he would actually judge his actions.

He's like a child who doesn't want to be scolded.

The address Zayn has prattled off to him is unfamiliar, but the GPS directs him fairly well. The streets on this side of town are more or less clear of heavy traffic. Bright billboards light up the sky, blotting out the stars. Niall can't read them through the reflecting droplets on his windshield. Zayn's eyes are following the periodic swiping of the wiper, hypnotised.

They turn into a lane just off the main road and here, the lights are comparatively mellowed. To the left is an expanse of pavement beyond which there is a wired fence with a **NO TRESPASSING** sign keeping loiterers away. The silhouette of heavy weight vehicles on the other side tells Niall that it is a construction sight. Judging by the whitewashed, balconied, softly lit apartment complex to the right, whatever is being constructed has probably been funded by moneyed investors. The road is empty with the exception of their vehicle. It stretches on into the darkness, swallowed by the yawn of the sky.

"Stop here."

Niall frowns, slowing the car down as a speed breaker approaches. The road looks freshly tarred. "Who lives here, Zee?"

One glance tells him that Zayn's busy texting, tongue poking out from the side of his mouth as his red rimmed eyes try to make sense of the bright alphabetical keyboard.

"Zayn?" Niall prompts again.

They have parked just outside the front entrance of the complex. The lobby is marble and golden and posh. It's an uptown neighbourhood if he's ever seen one. Now that they've stopped, the sound of raindrops pattering against the roof drowns out everything else.

"S'no one," comes the reply, several beats too late.

Zayn sounds more composed than he had before. He sounds like he's calculating something, weighing the pros and cons. So Niall unbuckles his seatbelt, lets the metal lock slip from between his fingers and turns so he's facing Zayn. His shins are pressed up against the gearshift and it's uncomfortable, but Zayn's got this look in his eyes like he wants to try something.

Slender fingers reach out to cradle his jaw. "C'mere babe," comes the slow Bradford drawl and Niall _goes_.

The elusive moment before their lips touch, Zayn's inky eyelashes stain his milky cheek and he never wants the bruise to fade away. His soft mouth catches on the flaked skin of Zayn's lips and it's rough and chafing with blunt nails digging in at the back of his neck. It's an entirely different story when Niall loosens his jaw. For a moment, they're sharing hot breaths, in and out like smoke and the next, Zayn's burning tongue is slipping into his mouth to scald everything within him, everything he is.

They're kissing to the soundtrack of the pouring rain and Zayn tastes just as he remembers.

His hand is travelling up Zayn's heated thigh and he struggles to move in closer, desperately wanting to _touch, touch, touch._ But the gearshift is between them and Zayn's still buckled up in his seat. Niall pushes himself off the seat in order to gain momentum, slapping his hand down on the steering wheel to find purchase.

The blaring of the horn startles him and he jerks away, landing back on the leather with a thump. Zayn's blinking at him, slow and languid, crushed cherry lips parted and chest heaving.

Niall follows the smooth line of his neck when he turns his head to look out of the window. When Zayn doesn't turn back around to look at him again, Niall finally follows his gaze.

It's a woman. She's young and she's standing at the entrance of the apartment complex, hugging herself over a mantle of furs. It's tied at the waist, but parts slightly at her chest. She's naked underneath.  
Blonde locks spill over her shoulder, catching in the warm light of the lobby. Silver heels adorn her feet. She looks like a candid straight off a Vogue cover.

At first, Niall thinks it's Perrie and dread clogs up his airway.

But her lips are plusher; a natural pout.

His thoughts melt away into insignificance when Zayn runs his thumbnail up the jagged scar on his knee through the hole in his denims. He's looking at him, fixing him with that magnetic gaze and Niall can't look away. Zayn's eyes are dark and full of intent. Niall understands.

_This is my secret. Keep my secret. Keep it a secret._

When he swallows, Zayn's gaze jumps over to the snowy column his throat. He looks like he's considering staying, but then he glances back and out the window again. Her waist is small and the swell of her breasts look soft and warm.

Zayn's nail digs into the scar and Niall hisses. It's not exactly pain that he's feeling. Not just pain.

The hand leaves Niall's knee. The seat belt reels back into place with a swoosh. The door opens, then shuts with a dull thud.

Niall watches Zayn duck his head against the onslaught of sharp raindrops, Doc Martens splashing through the puddles as he jogs up to the entranceway. Her fingernail travels down his chest and it's a bloodstain red. Her bony fingers wrap around his wrist and tug. Then he's gone.

Niall drives around aimlessly for an hour, debates going back to the pub.

He ends up heading in the opposite direction.

Halfway over to Louis', the rain stops. It doesn't slow to a drizzle and then fade out. It stops just as abruptly as it had begun. A colourful rattle for Freddie has replaced Zayn in the passenger seat.

They've all known each other for years now--

Liam has always been the oblivious one, the last to know of most things.  
Harry is the one who is aware of everything and yet marches to the beat of his own drum.  
Louis is tough on the outside, but a nurturing mother hen on the inside.

Zayn has always been the predictable one. Creature of habit and all that.

And Niall, well.   
Niall's just easy for him.

 

\---

 _“So I wait for you like a lonely house_  
_till you will see me again and live in me._  
_Till then my windows ache.”_  
_~Pablo Neruda_

_\---_


End file.
